Day 1
I’m afraid to be safe at home,
a word spat the wrong way could kill my eldest.
We touched cobbles with our shoes in the morning,
vert pour l'âme, although my breathing is damp,
the air of the park is dry; paper sheets of sunlight,
that ventilate the dark. Clean, cool air filters through.
They kept our minds calm with reasonable panic,
life becomes easier when the bike shops and makeup bags are gone.
One century before millions died, with a dollop of war on the side.
Our portal hands ensure physical distance is observed,
while mentally we are feeding our emotions through the digital meat ‘Grindr’.
My mind has a new fuck buddy called sad news.
When the rapture comes, we’ll form an orderly queue.
Purgatory is already here, what does the other section look like?